CSi: Things That Go Bump In The Night, Part 2
by A Rhea King
Summary: For a month, Greg and Nick’s stalker has haunted them, planted contaminated evidence, and discredited them, all to drive them to the edge. Now he has made a move on their lives, broadcasting it live for the world to watch. WGAW 1241562
1. Chapter 1: Present

Things That Go Bump in the Night, Part 2

by

A. Rhea King

**PRESENT**

Since it first came online in 1969, the Internet became a worldwide phenomenon. Only a virus or plague matched the speed and length of reach the Internet had into even the most unpopulated areas. The Internet had become a place where one could hide from the world, and yet be seen by everyone. That was exactly what Blaine Juhl counted on as he hit record on his Panasonic PV-GS320. The camcorder was equipped to record his feed live to his server somewhere else in the building he had chosen, but the image had all the qualities of an amateur – shakiness, uneven lighting, mono sound. For now. That was going to change, but he felt it was the best way to start his newest movie – his first movie that would share with the world his favorite hobby – murder.

Blaine smiled into the camera, cleared his throat, and began, "Welcome to my newest horror movie I call, things that go bump in the night. Over the coming days, I will treat you to the best horror movie you will ever witness. If you have small children, you should make them watch."

Blaine cackled as he pulled the camera back.

"My two victims asked, nay, begged their supervisor, not to send them on a job together. Their co-workers should have believed them when they said they didn't know anything about the contaminated evidence or questionable pictures. It made it easy for me to grab them right from under their co-worker's noses. My unwilling participants should be waking up about now--" Blaine looked at his watch. "And realizing they are... Well, going to die. But how, you ask? Let me show you the limitless possibilities to kill a person."

Blaine hit a button on the switchboard next him and looked up at the bank of a dozen monitors. He had wired this place himself and had seven different angles to choose from for his victims. The rest were surveillance of the grounds. Petra had always warned him to be overly cautious because occasionally the police actually hired people with brains, and they might solve his puzzle before he was ready for them to. He smiled, watching the one that showed a side view of Nick and Greg. They were just starting to come to and it made Blaine giddy that his pleasure would soon began


	2. Chapter 2: One Week Ago

**TWO WEEKS AGO**

Greg and Warrick entered the home together. Police had already secured the area and reported a possible murder-suicide. If only these were so simple. They could see the first victim, a woman, laying face down in a pool of blood in the kitchen. Greg guessed there were three bullet wounds in her back.

Assistant Corner, David Phillips, examined her and looked up as the two approached.

"I finished the body in the backyard if you want to get started on him."

Warrick and Greg went through the sliding door in the back and found the body. A man shot through the head. Right away, both CSI saw a problem with the murder-suicide theory.

"Don't most suicide victims shot themselves in the temple or under the chin?" Greg asked.

The man shot that killed the man was dead center in his forehead.

"Yeah. Most." Warrick sat his kit down and slid the strap of his camera over his neck. "So either he's ambidextrous, or he was murdered."

"Uhm... Guys. I think we have a problem here. Again."

The two looked back at the house. David was standing in the doorway.

"There's something you need to see."

The two went back in, following him back to the woman. David had rolled her onto her back and there was something sitting on her chest. He handed it to Warrick, trying not to look at Greg. Warrick's eyebrows lifted high. He looked at Greg.

"What?"

Warrick turned the photo around for Greg to see. Haughtily he asked, "_Another_ girlfriend, Greg?"

The photo was a fake, but no one else could tell that. It was of him and this dead woman walking through the Tangiers, holding hands.

"You know," Warrick started as he pulled out a baggie to put the photograph in.

Greg watched the photograph, glaring at it. He wished he had Superman's ability to shoot heat from his eyes and burn it before it could be bagged.

"This is what..." Warrick looked at him. "The fifth photograph of you with a recently murdered female. And let me guess, you're going to say you don't know the victim, you don't know how the photo got here because you were never with the victim, and you're going to tell me to mind my own business. Am I right?"

Greg looked up into Warrick's eyes. "I have a crime scene to process. Do what you want."

Greg turned and walked back outside.

He could hear Warrick call after him, "Yeah, Nick keeps telling me the same thing when I find photos of him. Maybe you two should stop sleeping with Las Vegas!"

Greg's fist tightened around his kit handle. He wasn't mad at Warrick. Or anyone else that was questioning these photographs. It was his and Nick's stalker that he imagined he was strangling, as he demanded answers from the man.

Greg knelt down next to the body and opened his kit to put on gloves.


	3. Chapter 3: Present

**PRESENT**

Nick slowly regained consciousness. He opened his eyes, staring at his lap. Then his eyes drifted to the cement at his feet. He legs had been tied just under the knees to the chair, and taut ropes tied to his ankles and wrists. His arms were tied at the elbow to the chair, limiting his movement. The taut ropes disappeared under his chair. Under his right palm he felt a cylindrical object, but he couldn't see it. Nick slowly lifted his head. For several minutes, nothing registered. His groggy mind was too busy just trying to get back to regular functionality to grapple with anything else. It was an icy jolt when his mind was suddenly able to identify that he was staring down the shaft of an arrow in an armed crossbow.

Nick pulled his eyes away from the crossbow to the tight rope coming from under his chair tied to the trigger of the crossbow, a dangerous tiny piece of metal that would send the arrow straight into his heart. It wouldn't kill him right away. He would feel excruciating pain for ten or fifteen minutes, he would bleed out, seize perhaps, and then die. The two questions that immediately followed all of that was where did the taut ropes to the weapon lead, and where did the ropes tied to his ankles and wrists go?

Nick looked around him, trying to get his bearings. He could tell he was in the deep end of the pool, but little else could be seen beyond the bright work lights shining down on him. He also noticed there were at least three cameras aimed in his direction. Nick craned his neck to look back and saw the edge of someone's shoulder. He stared at the shirt, trying to remind himself why it looked so familiar.

"Greg?" Nick said.

There was no answer.

"Greg, that you?"

There was a soft moan in reply.

"Greg, don't move. Whatever you do, do not move. Do you hear me?"

Behind Nick, Greg was just starting to get a grasp on their situation. And the double barrel shotgun aimed at his chest. He looked down, and while he couldn't see it, he was tied in the same fashion as Nick.

"Where are we?" Greg muttered.

"I have no idea."

Greg started to lift his hand.

The taut ropes on Nick's side started to move.

"HOLD STILL!" Nick ordered.

Greg froze. "Why?" he asked.

"If you move, I'll be shot with a crossbow. Assuming he's got you set up the same, what's on your side?"

"Double barrel shotgun."

The two were silent for a moment.

"Do you remember anything?" Nick asked.

"Not really. We did make it to the crime scene, didn't we?"

Nick hesitated. He wasn't sure. He realized he was missing several hours of memories.

Greg looked around him at the pool they were in, noticing the cameras.

"What's with the cameras?"

"I dunno."

In a booming voice Blaine's voice boomed, "Relax, gentlemen. And smile. The entire world is watching you."

"YOU WILL _NOT_ GET AWAY WITH THIS!" Nick screamed.

Blaine laughed. It made both Greg and Nick's anger boil to hear him laughing at them.

"But my dear CSI Stokes, I already have. As my beloved departed sister would have told you, death is just a family trait. You do know who my sister is, don't you?"

The two didn't answer.

"No? Let me remind you. She was exquisite, with--"

"Petra was as insane as you are!" Greg growled.

"Ah. So you do remember her. And you both killed her."

"She committed suicide. We didn't touch her!"

"But you did. You helped find her, arrest her, convict her, and when she couldn't stand being in jail, your very actions killed her. Lucky for you both, I promised her I would make sure you both understood just how wrong you were."

"We were not wrong," Nick snarled. "And when they find you, I guess you'll have to follow your family history of committing suicide in jail too!"

Blaine laughed. "Oh, Nicky, you won't be breathing by the time that happens," he crooned.

Nick pressed his lips together. He wasn't going to continue trying to reason with a madman.

"How's the arm, Greg? How are you feeling?"

"FINE!" Greg snarled.

"That's good to hear. You'll have to keep me update on that."

"What did you do to me?"

There was no answer.

"What did you do to me!?" Greg screamed.

Blaine didn't answer. Greg let out a slow breath.

"How is your arm?" Nick whispered.

"Hurts."

"Like it's broken?"

"No. Like I've been stabbed or something." Greg looked at his arm. Where it hurt his sleeve covered, but he didn't see any blood. "Doesn't look like I have been though."

"He's just messing with your head. Don't let him."

That was so easier said than done for both of them.


	4. Chapter 4: Five Days Ago

**TWO WEEKS AGO**

Nick leaned over with a magnifying glass, and using tweezers, carefully pulled a fiber off the clothes under it.

"Nick," Grissom said.

He froze. Unfortunately, in the last month he had become all too familiar with the various levels of 'Grissom's patience is thinning' tones. This was an 'on the verge of yelling' tone – a very uncommon tone that he and Greg had managed to elicit twice in the last week alone. Well, not them exactly. Their stalker. He seemed to be putting as much effort in getting them in trouble as keeping them awake with his non-stop calls.

"Yeah?" Nick kept working.

"We need to talk about the evidence you collected from the suicide-homicide in Green Valley."

"What about it?"

"Your finger prints are all over the gun."

Nick stood up, closing his eyes. Nick turned to Grissom, telling him, "Grissom, I swear to you I wore gloves. I even put them on in front of Catherine and showed her, just like you told me to."

"Yes. She said the same thing. So how did your finger prints get all over the evidence?"

'_Because my psychotic stalker wants you to believe I'm incompetent?_' Nick let out a soft breath. He couldn't tell Grissom that, so he was going to have to play his defensive card and hope it worked. Again. Nick dropped what was in his hands on the table and held them out.

"Here. Do a GSR test."

"I don't--"

"I think you do!" Nick snapped. "I am not doing this, Grissom, and before you even ask, _again_, I don't know who is! But I'm sure I can come up with a few years worth of suspects."

Grissom looked at the gun, then Nick. "I can't keep finding excuses for you and Greg, Nick. Go help Catherine find more evidence to prosecute the shooter, and this time, double glove."

Grissom left. Nick put his hands on his hip, turning in a slow circle. He wanted to scream. He wanted to find this guy and beat him into a pulp. He was ruining his life and career and without his job...

Nick inhaled a slow breath, let it out, and went back to work.

* * *

Greg sat in front of his open locker, staring into it. He wasn't really staring at anything and his mind was miles away. He looked up when Catherine came in and then turned away, reaching inside for his gun box. She glanced at him; he saw it out of the corner of his eyes. 

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Greg froze when his cell phone started ringing. It sat on the bench next to him, and he slowly looked down at the device. He didn't recognize the number, which meant the stalker was calling to tell him the time again.

"Aren't you going to get that?"

"What time is it?" Greg asked.

She glanced at her watch. "Two fourteen."

Greg stared at his phone.

"Greg, aren't you going to answer that?"

He shook his head. "No. He'll leave a message." He didn't hear himself add in a darker voice, "Bastard always leaves the same message every day."

"Greg."

The phone stopped ringing. He looked up at her.

"Yeah?"

"Who always leaves the same message every day?"

"What?"

"You said that the bastard always leaves the same message every day. Who are you talking about?"

Greg stared at her, trying to think up a really good lie. "Credit card collector. I got behind on a bill."

"They're persistent, aren't they?" She finished putting her things away and closed her locker.

Greg's phone happily beeped, letting him know of the awaiting voice mail. It didn't care that it was delivering a nightmare every day, twice a day on days he only worked one shift. All night if he worked a double or had been sent home early for something his stalker had done.

"Yeah," Greg said, "They are."

Catherine sat down next to him. She smiled, laying her hand on his shoulder.

"Greg, you know you can talk to me, right? You know if you had something you needed to get off your chest, I'd listen."

He nodded.

"Do you want to get a cup of coffee and talk about whatever is bothering you?"

Greg looked into her eyes. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to unload everything that was happening to him and Nick. He wanted to beg her to help them find this guy before he found them. But in order to protect those they cared about from his lunacy, they had agreed not to tell anyone until they had a positive I.D.

When he told her, "Maybe later," Greg could see the disappointment his answer gave her. He knew she wanted to help him because when she'd found a couple photographs, they had mysteriously disappeared before he could record them. He didn't like her taking that risk, but he was grateful.

"Well, let me know if you change your mind. You know how to get a hold of me."

Greg looked down. His phone started ringing again. She picked it up, holding it out to him.

"Whoever this is, you should probably stop ignoring them."

He thought to himself, '_He'll just keep calling even if I answer it_.'

She sat it on his leg, standing up. "Good night, Greg. See you tomorrow."

"Night."

Longingly, he watched her walk away.


	5. Chapter 5: Present

**PRESENT**

Grissom walked into the lab, watching Catherine and Warrick. Catherine had her eyes pressed against a microscope, looking at something. Warrick was preparing DNA samples. Hodges was working with fibers.

"What are you working on?" Grissom asked Catherine as he walked up.

She pulled her head back. Her puffy, red and watery eyes told him she had been crying. "Hair from our last crime scene."

"I said we can put the other cases on hold for now."

She got up when a paper printed on the printer behind her and grabbed it.

"I know, but until we have something to work on with their case, I have to keep busy."

Grissom didn't argue. That made sense. He looked across the room. Someone had brought the website up on a computer. For six hours now, nothing had happened to the two and the two had stopped talking. It looked as if Nick may have even dozed off.

"Warrick, aren't you supposed to be in A/V?"

"Yeah. But I needed a break, Gris. I just... I left Archie with it for now."

"Has he had any luck with the website?"

"Naw. This guy planned for that. He's been hopping servers since this started, Archie said."

Catherine sat down on a stool, staring at the paper in her hand. "And there's nothing in the video feed we can use?"

"I have watched, re-watched and re-watched it again," Warrick answered her. "I can't see anything. This guy knew we'd use it and has made sure there's nothing unique or significant."

She looked at the monitor, watching the men.

"They haven't spoken in a while," Grissom commented.

"They're scared," she told him, looking back at him.

Warrick looked up at Grissom. "Do you think they knew this was coming?"

"I suspect they did."

Warrick leaned back against a cabinet, looking at the floor. He didn't want to talk any more. He wanted answers that would lead him to his friends.

Neither saw Hodges slowly look up from his work as something dawned on him.

"They did know," Hodges said.

The three looked at him.

"Did they tell you that?" Catherine asked.

"No, but I overheard them in the locker room on the day we all received the invitations." Hodges' eyes grew wide as he recalled the conversation he'd heard.


	6. Chapter 6: Four Days Ago

**FIVE DAYS AGO**

Grissom walked off the elevator, smiling at the receptionist as he passed her. He stopped at the break room, fixing a cup of hot tea, and then headed into his office. He sat down, setting the cup aside, and picked up the pile of mail sitting in the basket at the edge of his desk. He noticed an enveloped with 'Your Invited!' printed at an angle along the bottom. He pulled it out, examining it. There was no return address and the postal stamp indicated it had been mailed in Las Vegas.

Catherine came into his office, holding up an identical invitation. "Did you get one of these?"

Grissom opened the envelope. "I just found it."

Warrick stopped in the door and Grissom saw the invitation in his hand. "The entire police force got these invitations. Have you been to the website on it?"

Grissom opened it and printed inside was just an URL. He turned to his computer, jiggling the mouse to wake it. Logging on, he typed the URL from the invitation. Catherine walked around his desk to watch. Grissom glanced at Warrick.

"You've been to it?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah. Looks like we've gotta serial killer."

The website loaded and in large, flashing letters, it read, 'Coming soon! _Two Men Die_. Check back frequently.'

Grissom sat back.

"This killer's got balls," Catherine said.

Grissom couldn't agree more.

"Is Archie trying to locate the website?" Grissom asked Warrick.

"Yeah."

Grissom frowned at the screen. What could this mean? What two men?

"For now we have other cases to handle. I just got in, let me find out what we have and I'll have your assignments. Are Greg and Nick here?"

Catherine and Warrick didn't answer. Grissom looked up at Catherine.

"They're late again?"

"Mandy said they were here for six hours after their shift. Grissom, I don't know what they're doing. They say they're working on their cases, but their work is behind."

"There was another picture of Greg and a victim, and he swears he knows nothing about it. As usual."

"When they get in, tell them I want to talk to them."

"I'd like to know why they're suddenly attached at the hip," Warrick growled.

Grissom heard the insinuation in his voice, but he wasn't going to address it. He had noticed the same thing himself. Perhaps today, with this threat out there, it was time to get some answers from the two.

* * *

In their own vehicles, Nick and Greg pulled into the parking lot. Greg got out of his car and pulled out two cups of coffee. He handed Nick a cup as the two headed to the lab. They stepped on the elevator, the only two on it. 

"Any luck last night?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, actually, I think I might have found a birth certificate. I had to wait until today to call them though."

"Think it's him?"

"I dunno. Same mother, but different father than Petra. I can't be certain."

Nick nodded. The doors opened and they walked off the elevator together. Right away they noticed that the lab was unusually active.

"What is going on?" Nick wondered out loud.

"I dunno."

Nick saw Warrick. "Hey, Warrick."

He stopped, turning back to them.

"What's going on?"

"Maybe if you two are going to be together so much, you could at least he on time, then you'd know."

"What does that mean?" Nick asked.

"Nothing. Grissom wanted to see you two as soon as you got in." Warrick headed off down the hall.

"Don't we have a case to finish up?" Nick asked.

"I have a case I have to be at right now."

"With who?"

"Catherine."

"He's going to send us on the same case today," Nick commented.

"Let's try to talk our way out again."

The two headed for Grissom's office.

* * *

Grissom watched the two men hurry into his office. 

"You're sending us out on the same case?" Nick asked.

"What?" Grissom asked.

"Are you sending us out on the same case?" Nick repeated.

"I have to. You both are late and I need two CSI on this case." Grissom picked up a form and held it out to them. "So yes."

"You can't send us on the same case," Greg retorted.

"And why not?" Grissom let his hand with the form drift back to the desk.

The two were at a loss for an immediate answer.

"I asked, why not?" Grissom asked.

"We... Haven't..." Nick stumbled for an answer.

"We haven't worked on a case together since..." Greg trailed off.

"Since you came back from vacation and the two of you started acting strangely?" Grissom asked.

"I hate Nick," Greg blurted.

Nick nodded. "If I have to work with him, you're going to have to fire one of us before the end of the shift."

A normally rare emotion darkened Grissom's face: anger.

"Sit down!"

The two obeyed.

"I want some answers, men. Why you say your working on case evidence you're not? Why you are both leaving and coming to work together every day when I know you live on opposite ends of town? Why you are both been late every day for a month?"

The two were silent. Neither had seen this coming.

"No answer?"

They didn't answer.

"Fine. Whatever is going on, it stops today!" Grissom snarled. More calmly he added, "And if you two are the enemies you're claiming, and I end up having to come to your crime scene for _any_ reason, I will fire both of you."

There was a heavy silence, filled with Grissom's anger.

"Are we clear?" Grissom snapped.

"Yes," Nick answered.

"Yeah," Greg muttered.

"And from now on, you will leave the lab when your shift is over, unless you have put in a request for overtime or I ask you to stay. You will no longer be late. Understand?"

Both CSI nodded. Grissom held the form up again.

"Get to work."

Nick and Greg stood, Greg taking the paper. The two walked into the hall, heading for the locker room. Nick opened his locker and started getting ready to leave. Greg sat down on the bench.

"Come on. We can't make him any angrier."

Greg looked up at his locker. "Nick, we are dead if we work this case together."

"You don't know that."

"We can't work the same case, Nick. You know we can't."

Nick stopped moving, staring into his locker. Greg had voiced his exact thoughts and worry. Nick sat down on the bench.

"Do you want to tell him?"

Greg looked down, shaking his head. "We can't."

"Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we should tell them now, clear the air."

"No... We have to protect them from the truth until we know for sure."

Nick nodded. "Yeah. But the truth is, Greg, I don't know how much longer I can keep this secret. I... I'm so tired. And frustrated and..."

The two sat, staring at the row of lockers before them. Nick stood. He put on his gun, badge, and vest, and grabbed his field kit.

"We need to go before we make Grissom any angrier tonight. Meet you downstairs."

Greg put on his gun and grabbed his badge and kit, following him out.

Neither had noticed Hodges on the other side of the lockers, listening to the conversation. He had an idea what they were talking about – the entirely wrong idea – and wasn't going to say anything until they came out of the closet with their big secret.


	7. Chapter 7: Present

**PRESENT**

Catherine, Warrick, and Grissom stared at Hodges. Catherine and Warrick had thought the same wrong thing about the two as Hodges did. But now, in light of the kidnapping, there was a cold realization that the men knew about their kidnapper, possibly even who he was.

"My God, Grissom, if we'd pushed harder that day, if you'd pried... It sounds like they both wanted to tell us they knew what was happening to them."

"But why didn't they just tell us. Protecting us didn't help them at all." Warrick shook his head. "All they did is put themselves out there are bait."

"That was the point, Warrick," Grissom said. "They were trying to protect us from this guy. I want you two to pull their phone records. See if you can find this person's phone number and a name."

The two left to obey. Grissom turned to the door.

"What about me?" Hodges asked. "What do you want me to do?"

Grissom turned to him. "Finish up their work. We can't leave evidence out." He left.

Hodges frowned. That wasn't the job he'd expected or wanted.


	8. Chapter 8: Four Days Ago

**FIVE DAYS AGO**

Nick and Greg climbed out of the SUV, gathered their field kits, and headed for the front door. The house was in a remote spot, on the edge of civilization. It was the perfect place to murder someone. Greg noticed the three police cars parked on the street, and one was standing at the door.

"At least there's police here."

"Didn't stop Petra," Nick coldly reminded him.

Greg didn't reply. He had been trying not to think about that, actually. The two walked inside, finding David and Detective Brass with the corpse in the foyer. David looked up at them but then quickly looked away.

"It's about time," Brass told them. "I was beginning to think we'd have to processes the scene ourselves."

Neither offered any reasons for their tardiness.

"There are three bodies. This one, another in the kitchen at the back, and one out in the garage."

"T.O.D.?" Nick asked.

"Looks like around two this afternoon," David answered.

The two start to walk off in separate directions. The time David gave hit them at the same time and they both turned. The stalker had left 2:15 on Greg's voice mail and 2:18 on Nicks. At first they'd thought these times were significant, but it was clear early on in their investigation the times were arbitrary.

"What time did you say?" Greg asked.

"Two." David looked up. "Why?"

"Who discovered them?"

Brass answered, "An anonymous, good Samaritan called it in."

"Has it been traced, yet?" Nick asked.

"No. I thought that was your job."

Brass's eyes narrowed when Greg and Nick exchanged a look. "Is there something I should know about?" Brass questioned.

"No. We'll get started in the back room."

"Together?"

"Yes," they answered together.

"Wouldn't this go faster if you two split up?"

"Hey, you know, we're the CSI, and if we believe working a room together benefits the case, we'll do it, alright?" Nick snapped.

For several minutes no one spoke and the tension built.

"Alright," Brass finally answered.

The two walked away. Neither looked back when Brass cleared his throat.

Behind them David and Brass watched them until they'd disappeared. David looked up at Brass.

"Did that seem just a little weird?"

"Everything with those two is getting weird. Be sure to check the corpse for a photograph before they touch it."

David nodded.

* * *

Grissom and Warrick had been searching the warehouse for three hours for any clue connected with the dead body found in a loading bay. As usual, no one saw anything, so they had to clear the warehouse and start searching – with a lot of loud objections from the manager. Grissom found himself in an isolated corner, using his flashlight to probe into every nook and cranny for anything resembling evidence. 

Warrick trotted up carrying a laptop. "Grissom, we've got a problem."

"Is the manager demanding a warrant now?"

"No. Worse. There's a crowd of media outside wanting to know what we're doing about the killer and which two CSI he's kidnapped."

Grissom turned to him. "Where are they getting this information?

"The website." Warrick held the laptop on one arm and opened it.

The website had changed from earlier that night: _Visit CSI Gil Grissom at 413 Industrial Lane to see how he plans on saving his two CSI._

Grissom pulled his phone out and dialed Catherine.

"Willows," Catherine answered.

"Catherine, I want you and Ronnie out of that house right now. Go back to the lab and wait until I call you. Do not stop anywhere, for anyone, or anything."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Go. Now."

"Okay."

Grissom hung up his phone and dialed Nick's number. "Call Greg," he ordered Warrick.

But neither Nick nor Greg answered, and neither did their voicemail…

* * *

Greg and Nick were glad to be leaving the crime scene as they packed evidence and their equipment into the SUV. 

"Told you we'd be fine working this together," Nick ribbed.

Greg smiled. He glanced at his watch. It was two o'clock on the nose.

"Oh. I left that bag with the bloody sweater sitting on the steps. I'll be right back," Greg told him.

Nick climbed in behind the wheel and waited for Greg. He dug a pack of gum from his pocket and put a stick in his mouth. He heard Greg talking and glanced in the rear view mirror. A police officer had stopped him, asking about something. Greg nodded and got in.

"What's up?"

"They have to stay here tonight. He wanted to know if we'd cleared a restroom."

Nick laughed, holding out the pack. "Guess they didn't like the idea of shooting it in the breeze?"

Greg took a stick. "Would you?"

"Not if I had a nice bathroom in a house someone was killed in, I guess."

The two laughed.

Nick started the vehicle and pulled out of the driveway onto the dirt road joining it. Nick glanced at the radio's clock. Two after two shone back at him. He quickly looked away.

Greg leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.

"He didn't call us tonight," Greg said with a yawn.

"We don't have signal out here."

Greg checked his phone. "I've got one bar."

"Mine was up and down the entire time."

Greg's stomach growled loudly. "Hit a drive through on the way back in."

"Okay."

Nick turned onto the paved highway, heading toward town. He glanced at Greg. He was half asleep in the passenger side, a place Nick wished he could be at right now. As he looked away, he glanced at the clock. Only three minutes had passed. Mentally he kicked himself for doing that. He knew watching the time wasn't going to make things happen or not happen, but something more human kept making him look at the clock. He reached out and turned on the radio, hoping a good song would come on and distract him.

And one did. He began muttering the words as he drove, letting his mind go back to the crime scene and pick at it some more. His serene moment was interrupted when he saw a white van down the road with its hazards flashing. The driver was crouched by the back tire, trying to fix it. The man was dressed in painter overalls with a paint stained painter's cap. Nick hit the emergency lights and pulled up behind him. He glanced at Greg, considering waking him to help, but then decided to let Greg sleep.

Nick climbed out, asking the driver, "Need some help?"

"Oh, yeah. Damn tire blew," the driver answered.

Nick noticed that he was wearing the cap low, casting a deep shadow down his face when he looked toward the SUV lights. He felt a tinge of nervousness, what with their stalker still at large, but he couldn't just leave someone stranded in the middle of the desert. He walked over and crouched down next to man.

"Let me give ya a hand."

"You're too kind, son. Thank you for stopping."

The driver moved out of his way when Nick picked up the car jack and slid it under.

"No problem." Nick realized that this tire wasn't blown or flat. "Did you feel a tire go out? This one looks fine."

"All four are fine, Nick," Blaine Juhl told him. "But you and Greg aren't."

It was a cold, heart stopping moment when he realized he had fallen right into their stalker's trap. Nick wrapped his hand tight around the jack and spun, swinging it.

"GREG!" Nick screamed.

Blaine shot Nick in the back of the neck with a tranquilizer dart.

He reached for the dart, got a grip on it, and almost had it pulled out when he dropped to the ground unconscious.

Blaine left him lying by the van and walked around to the passenger side of the SUV. He pulled on rubber gloves, and then in a single fast motion he opened the door and stepped back, letting Greg fall from the vehicle.

Greg woke up scrambling to catch himself. He hit the ground and rolled over, staring up at Blaine.

"Hi, Greg," Blaine said with a huge smile, and then shot him in the neck with a tranquilizer dart.

Greg grabbed it, pulling it out as he scrambled to his feet. Enough of the drug had gotten into his system to make him feel light headed but coherent enough to react. He ducked behind the door before Blaine could aim again, trying to get away. Blaine followed, in no hurry.

Greg stumbled over Nick and sat down hard. He saw Nick's side arm and drew it as Blaine stepped around the corner of the van. They aimed at each other. Blaine didn't move, just smiled a crazy, sadistic smile. Greg's vision blurred for a few seconds.

"What do you want from us?" Greg asked.

"Entertainment!" Blaine said, then shot and ducked behind the van.

The dart sunk deep into Greg's neck, barely missing his jugular. Greg grabbed it and pulled it out, but this time enough was released. He tried to get on his feet. The world swayed and dipped around him. He saw Blaine come back around the van and tried to aim the gun at him.

"I don't think you'll need that any more," Blaine told him.

Greg tried to hold tight as Blaine pulled the gun away but his body wasn't listening to his thoughts any more. He sank to his knees. Blaine walked over to him, crouching next to him.

"Did you know my sister thought you and him looked delicious? We had something very special planned for you two. And we were going to make friends with all of your friends and invite them over for dinner, something exotic. Imagine their surprise when they found out they were eating you two? Perhaps, when this is over, I may still enjoy Nick, sautéed in a white wine reduction sauce. Maybe I'll even send a few thigh steaks to that boss of your. The one that sent you two out here, together, so I could just pick you two off like strawberries."

Blain giggled when Greg tried to speak. He watched him sink to the ground next to Nick, letting out a gleeful laugh.

"I LOVE MY JOB!" Blaine yelled to the desert.

Collecting himself, Blaine pulled a syringe from his overall pocket. He uncapped it, squirted a little fluid from it, and then pulled up Greg's sleeve to inject the fluid into his arm.

"There. That should make you feel so much better in a few days," Blaine told him.

He stood and pulled the two into his van. He walked over to the SUV and jumped onto the hood, reclining on his side in front of the in dash camera. He produced Greg and Nick's phones, and dialed each of them, tapped the keypads, then set them on the hood within view of the camera.

"This is getting exciting, guys! I think I'll tip some reporter off that this SUV's here, let them get the first scoop on this breaking news story. What do you think? See ya in the funnies!"

Blaine slid off the hood, got in his van, and, obeying traffic laws, drove away.

* * *

Warrick hadn't even stopped when Grissom jumped out of the SUV. He ran over to Nick and Greg's, pushing back the media. Luckily, the two police officers that had secured the farm were closer when Blaine had called in the tip and it broke on the news. 

Behind his SUV, Catherine, Brass, and four more police cars pulled up. Brass and the police quickly controlled the mob of reporters that had converged on this desolate spot in the desert.

Grissom pulled on gloves and reached across the hood, picking up Nick's phone. Warrick and Catherine walked up next to him.

"We need to get this back to the lab. Bag both of the phones." Grissom handed it off to Warrick.

Grissom walked around the SUV to the open door. He spotted the dart almost covered by sand. Catherine came up behind him, holding two more darts.

"I've got two tranquilizer darts."

"I have a third."

"Why would he tranquilize them?"

Grissom stood; looking down the road. "He knew they would have fought, meaning he'd hurt them, and he didn't want that. Yet."

Catherine looked down the road too. It led back to Las Vegas and a million different places to hide two people while you killed them.


	9. Chapter 9: Present

**PRESENT**

Catherine saw Grissom down the hallway and hurried up to him. Ecklie glanced at her as she approached, and quickly ended his conversation and left.

"What was that about?"

"There are other websites cropping up across the country. Most of them are fakes, but it's making it difficult to isolate his. Ecklie is getting calls from around the world. Plus, Homeland Security is now involved. They have a profile of a suspected terrorist that they sent over."

Catherine shook her head. "If only it were so simple. Warrick and I finished with their SUV and there was nothing in it, Grissom. I don't think this guy was ever in it."

That displeased Grissom. He felt like he was caught in a labyrinth and every turn was only taking him further and further away from the exit.

"Are you okay?" Catherine asked quietly.

"I should have listened better, Catherine. I think about every conversation I'd had with those two, and the photographs that kept appearing. Or the contaminated evidence – those two have never been sloppy; I don't know why I believed they would be now. I _should_ have seen this."

"Grissom, we all thought they were falling apart. And there was a wide rumor that they were... Dating."

"Dating? Where did that come from?"

"Their strange behavior and them always leaving and coming to work together."

"I never thought that. I just thought they were falling apart on us."

"Something's happening!" Mandy said.

The two looked down the hall at her. She waved them to follow. The two jogged after her, following her into the A/V lab.

* * *

"Niiiiicccckkkeeeee," a voice droned. 

No, not the voice. Something else was droning. Something was sprayed in his face, making him jerk his head back. He opened his eyes, finding Blaine couched in front of him, but well below the arrow. He held a spray bottle and sitting on the concrete floor next to him was a covered box.

"Nick, you get to make a choice today," Blaine told him.

"What choice?" Nick asked.

"Greg, are you awake?"

"Yes," Greg answered. Nick noticed he sounded congested, but that didn't hide the disdain in his reply.

"Now, one of these choices means you'll get to leave here alive. Scouts honor." Blaine held up his three fingers, smiling. "I used to be an Eagle Scout. I remember when I--"

"The choice?" Nick wasn't about to go down memory lane with a psycho killer.

"It's easy. You just move a leg or arm, Greg dies, you leave."

Nick's jaw tightened. "No."

"Are you sure you don't want to reconsider?"

"Positive."

Blaine began spritzing him. Nick turned his head to keep the liquid out of his face.

"What are you doing!? STOP!"

Blaine stopped and Nick returned his glare to him.

"Last chance, Nick."

"Did you really think you'd convince me to kill my friend?"

Blaine sat the bottle down and picked up the box. "No." He grinned his crazy, sadistic smile. "I'd counted on you refusing. Nicky--"

"NICK!"

"Nicky... When you were twelve, you had a little bit of an incident."

"I had a lot of incidents when I was twelve."

Blaine lifted the cover from the box, revealing a cage with six bees. Nick couldn't remember to breathe. He remembered the incident. He had been playing with a friend at a park that opened onto the Texas plains. There was a tree at the edge of the park that always had bees around it. Being boys, neither gave it much thought. They decided to climb it and he was stung only three times. He could only remember getting away from the tree. Then he woke up in the hospital and learned he was allergic to the Hymenoptera venom.

"No," Nick said.

"Oh yes."

"What's happening?" Greg asked.

"Isn't it going to ruin your little show if you kill us both so soon?" Nick taunted, hoping it would give him an edge.

Blaine motioned to Nick's hand. "You have epinephrine in your hand, Nicky. You just have to use it and save yourself. Course... you'll have to get it in your leg to do that, won't you?"

Nick looked at his hand, then his thigh. That was where the directions instructed the epinephrine to be given and no where else. However, in order to do it this time, he'd have to pull on the strings and kill Greg. Nick felt sick. He shook his head, meeting Blaine's eyes.

"You'd never let me leave here alive. I'll die before you force me to kill him."

Blaine leaned forward. "You CSI guys are all alike, falling on your swords for one another."

Nick didn't reply.

"Loose the hounds." Blaine opened the door on the cage.

Nick pressed back into his chair, watching six bees fly out of the cage. At first, it seemed they would fly off, but suddenly they turned and headed for him. Nick cringed as they buzzed around him. He looked down at the spray bottle, then Blaine's grinning face. He had sprayed him with something to attract the bees.

With a long, swooping step, Blaine stepped out of the path of the arrow and backed into the darkness.

Nick jerked his head away from a bee, startling one that had landed on his shoulder. He almost yanked his arm when it stung him.

"Nick, what's happening?" Greg asked. "Are those bees?"

"YES!" Nick yelled when another stung his leg.

Within minutes, all six had stung him and fell to the floor twitching as they died.

The world swung back and forth before Nick. He closed his eyes, feeling his heart staring to palpate. Pain crept into his muscles and abdomen. Nick leaned over, careful not to move his arms. He looked at the epipen under his hand, but he couldn't knowingly kill his friend. He looked at the crossbow. Death would come faster if he could get Greg to pull the trigger, but he knew Greg wouldn't do that for him.

Nick looked back at his hand and the world wavered. He closed his eyes a moment, and then used his hand to find the cap. Using his fingers, which was difficult as the venom was causing his muscles to cramp, he finally found it. With his thumb and forefinger, he was able to flick it off, exposing the needle. Nick stared at it. Now what? How was he going to get it into his thigh? Nick's yes drifted to the back of his hand. There was only one way to get it in without killing Greg, wasn't there? Nick slowly, carefully, turned the epipen around, feeling the sharp needle scrape his skin. It took work and maneuvering to get it positioned just right. He aimed the needle for the muscle in his forearm.

He jammed his arm down on the needle, and at the last minute it slipped, sliding into his wrist. The sharp metal tore through skin and nicked a tendon before sinking into the muscle. Nick screamed as pain shot up his arm, forcing his hand to let go of the epipen. The device slipped and fell, hitting the cement floor with a dull click-clang.

Nick fell back into his chair. His head drifted back, resting against Greg's shoulder. Greg turned his head as far as he could, trying to see him.

"Nick?" he heard Greg say, but the voice was strangely distorted.

The epinephrine worked as fast as the venom had and he was able to draw a long, deep breath.

"Nick, are you okay?"

He let his head fall forward and the world spun.

"Talk to me, Nick. Are you okay? Nick?"

Nick slowly opened his eyes, and then closed them on the spinning world. "Can you just pull the string now?"

Greg chuckled a little. "No. Are you going to live?"

Nick opened his eyes, letting his head fall forward. "For a while, yeah. But I really need to go to the hospital."

Greg didn't feel like pointing out that he seriously doubted their deranged captor would call for a doctor.

Nick closed his eyes again, swallowing.

* * *

People were relieved to see Nick move, most unaware that his danger was not past. Catherine pushed out of the crowd and rushed away. Grissom followed, finding her sitting in the locker room. He slowly sat down next to her. 

Grissom said. "Did I ever tell you about Nick's interview? It was the reason I hired him."

"No."

"He had just graduated with his bachelors, fresh out of college. His transcripts were impressive, but he had no field experience. So I asked him why I should hire someone who didn't know anything about the job. He told me that learning the job and processing the evidence was the easy part. The hard part was solving the crimes to help people find closure, even if they were already dead."

"Sometimes he's too compassionate."

Grissom nodded. They were silent for a few minutes.

"One epipen isn't enough for him, Grissom," Catherine told him. Her voice was flat, almost monotone.

"He's hypersensitive to Hymenoptera venom, isn't he?"

She nodded.

"How bad?"

"Bad. He was stung once when we were on a scene south of town. He'd left his epipen back in the SUV in his coat and I tried to make it back with him, but it came on so fast! I've never seen anyone react so fast to bee stings. That was just one bee; this was six." She turned her head, looking at Grissom's legs. "If he doesn't get more epinephrine in him soon..."

"I know."

Catherine looked up at Nick's locker, then Greg's. "I searched their lockers. There's nothing in them that will help."

The two were silent for several minutes.

"I found something in their voice mail boxes," Warrick said as he appeared in the door. "The voice is the same as their kidnapper. For a week straight, every day, he left multiple messages of 2:15 on Greg's voice mail, and 2:20 on Nick's."

"That proves they knew this was coming," Catherine said. "Why didn't they tell us? Why did they think we needed protected more than they did?"

"It was instinctual, Catherine," Grissom told her. "They knew what this guy was capable of, I would guess, and they were protecting us from what they're going through now."

"We don't have any more leads, Grissom. If they were looking into this guy, where's their investigation files? Archie said there was nothing about this in their network folders, there's nothing in their lockers or on their phones. That means every shred of evidence they have is in their heads, in an empty pool, in some building, somewhere in the United States." Warrick asked. "What are we going to do now?"

Grissom looked up at Nick's locker. He didn't know and not knowing made him sick to his stomach.

* * *

He felt as if days had passed. He listened to Nick wheezing, noticing every breath sounded much like his own. Nick's breathing had gotten better for a while, but now, like his own breathing, it was becoming more raspy and short. Greg coughed hard, forcing his arms down so he wouldn't move the strings. 

Quietly Nick said, "You don't sound so good. How you holding up?"

Greg tried to sigh, but ended up coughing again.

"I feel awful."

"Awful how?"

"Like I'm coming down with the flu."

Nick looked up. He could see spots of daylight above their head. The overhead skylights were covered or painted, but some places let small shafts of light into the room. The weak light wasn't strong enough to light the pool area beyond the light.

"Do you think he's got sound in his show? Think they can hear us?" Greg asked.

* * *

In the CSI lab, Archie heard the two talking. He moved over, listening to the conversation. 

"I don't know," Nick answered Greg.

He looked down at the pool floor, staring at something under his foot. "I know where we're at."

"What?" Archie said. He stood, dialing his phone. "Grissom, are you watching? Get on. Greg knows where they're at."

"Lotta good that'll do," Nick retorted.

Greg nodded.

"Still... I'd like to know where I'm going to die. Where are we?"

"We're at Los Cas--"

They both looked up when they heard a door slam and the conversation was broken off. They could hear footsteps coming.

"No. No. Greg, tell us where you're at?" Archie grabbed the monitor when they both looked away from the camera. "Greg, Where are you!?" Archie screamed at the monitor.

Blaine came into the light, carrying a syringe in each hand. Around the middle of the syringes were bands of color: one red, one blue.

Archie sank into his chair, staring at the screen. He heard someone run up behind him, but he couldn't look away. He knew this was about to turn ugly again.

* * *

Blaine stopped next to them. 

"In one of these needles is a light sedative. The other is water mixed with a little treat." Blaine crouched down. "Eat me." He lifted one. "Drink me." He lifted the other. "Pick a color..." He stared into Greg's eyes, "CSI Sanders."

Greg didn't answer. He coughed a couple times instead.

Blaine smiled more. "Feeling lousy? Achy? Head hurt? Nausea coming and going? You look like hell."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. As a matter of fact, if your friends don't find you in the next four days, you'll be anything but fine." Blaine looked into the camera. "Oh! Did I just put a time limit on one of their lives? How evil of me!" Blaine turned back to Greg. "Pick a color, Greg."

"Fuck you."

"I would have, except I really do prefer women."

Blaine stood, facing the camera as he put both syringes in his shirt pocket. "Well, I guess I'll have to kill one off right now. Eenie, meenie, minee, moe..." Blaine turned, grabbing Nick's by the throat with both hands.

Nick had expected something like that and tried to pull away. He gagged as Blaine's hand slowly squeezed tighter and tighter.

"RED! RED!" Greg screamed.

Blaine let go, looking Nick in the eye. "Your partner has more balls than you did."

Nick pressed his lips together. Yes, Greg was being courageous, but only to save his life and that gave Blaine leverage over them both. Blaine pulled a syringe out of his pocket, holding it up in front of his face.

"Too bad, isn't it?"

Nick stared at the red band, guessing that was the one with the little treat. Blaine jabbed it into his shoulder. Nick winced, but said nothing. Blaine moved to Greg, giving him the shot before he could see the color band. Blaine stepped back.

"Feel free to talk amongst yourself. After our last close call, they won't be listening to you anymore."

Blaine walked back into the shadows.

The effects of the shots were quick. Greg felt like his arms and legs were floating and try as he might, he didn't feel like he was holding them down. He couldn't see that doing that was pulling on the string of the crossbow.

Behind him, Nick fought hard to resist the sleep lulling to him. Eventually he slipped into sleep, and doing so relaxed his body. The taut strings he'd been trying to keep taut pulled on his wrists, pulling them off the arms. The strings to both weapons pulled the triggers...

* * *

Archie held his breath, watching the triggers slowly depress. The screen suddenly went black, followed by a shotgun shot and the twang of an arrow. On the black screen, 'Intermission' appeared. 

"What the hell happened?" Archie asked the screen. "Are they dead? Did you kill them? What the hell just happened!?"

"Archie, calm down," Grissom said, and then his hand rested on the young man's shoulder. "I don't think their dead. He wanted this to go on longer, they haven't died."

"How do you know that?"

"The website is still up."

Archie wanted to believe Grissom, but he was having a hard time. And the flashing 'Intermission' wasn't reassuring him any.

* * *

Warrick moved back when a picture was slapped in front of him. He looked at Archie. 

"What does this look like?"

Warrick set down the magnifying glass he held and picked up the picture. The photo was a fuzzy still taken from one of the camera angles off the edge of the pool. Circled in the picture was a tiled mosaic image that they were sitting in the center. It was faded and many of the tiles were missing. Warrick held it out.

"Did you just notice this?"

"No. Greg did."

Warrick lowered the picture. "They're back on?"

"No. Still intermission. I noticed him looking at the floor before... Anyway, I went back through the footage we captured and found this. What does it look like?"

Warrick looked at it again. He leaned on the light table, shaking his head.

"Warrick, think."

"Do you know what it is?"

"No. But it looks so familiar."

Warrick's frustration rose a few notches, because he was thinking the same thing, but the answer wasn't coming to him. He handed it back.

"No. I don't recognize it."

Archer left, staring at the picture.

"Try Grissom," Nick told him.

Archie waived as he hurried past.

* * *

The world was full of pinpricks and noise. Somewhere in the distance, he heard something beeping, like a heart monitor steadily keeping time. He could hear water dripping, one slow drip at a time. There was the sound of something ticking, but it was quieter than the beeping or dripping combined. 

Nick opened his eyes and was reintroduced to the nightmare. They were still in the pool tied to chairs with... Nick lifted his head. The crossbow was tipped over, lying on the floor. He looked down at his wrists. The ropes were loose. Did that mean... What had happened after he was given the shot?! Nick turned in the chair, seeing Greg slumped over behind him.

"Greg?"

Nick started to get off the chair but froze. The beeping was coming from nearby. No... Nick looked down. It was coming from under the chair. Nick slowly worked one arm loose from the ropes. He untied his other arm and leaned over to untie his ankles. What he saw under his chair froze him. He had thought that the grey directly under his chair was part of the pool. Now he could tell it was a pressure pad attached to the bomb. A very large bomb that was beeping as the light blinked. Nick untied the ropes and slowly sat back.

"Blaine you son of a bitch," Nick growled.

He heard a soft beep and looked up. A camera nearby focused on him and the record light started blinking. All around him, the other cameras started flashing too. It was a foreboding sight for him...

* * *

...the CSI monitors on the website suddenly came to life with a dozen images showing Nick and Greg. Everyone stopped what he or she was doing to watch. Superimposed over the images was a clock counting down. 

Blaine's voice cut in, telling them, "The show doesn't always go on. The end is near. The center does not hold. Apocalypse now. Two days. Twelve hours. Time is of the essence, will you figure out where they are in time?"

Warrick looked back when Doc Robbins stopped next to him.

The camera angles disappeared until one remained, and as the timer faded, the image zoomed in. Nick was staring right into the camera. They could see he was no longer tied to the chair.

"Why hasn't he gotten up?" Hodges asked from the back of the break room.

Warrick's first thought was the same. He looked over the area, trying to figure it out. Then he saw it. At the edge of the camera, just out of view, was the top of a box with a flashing light. At the angle it sat, he could make out a timer.

"Because he's sitting on a bomb," Warrick said.

"I really hate that bastard," Robbins hissed, referring to the kidnapper.

Warrick nodded. He wasn't developing any love for the guy either.

* * *

"Greg." 

His head felt as if it was full of cobwebs and he couldn't find his way out of them. He knew the voice, and yet it didn't have any familiarity.

"Greg, are you with me? Can you hear me?"

Greg tried to talk, but it came out as a soft mutter.

"Listen, man, don't move. He tricked us with the weapons, they weren't real. We gotta bomb under our chairs."

Greg slowly opened his eyes. That cleared some of the cobwebs. He looked around the pool area, the view around him dusting out the remaining cobwebs.

"A bomb?" Greg asked.

"Yeah. Under the chairs."

Greg looked down at his feet. He noticed the rope around his wrists weren't taut any more. He worked one arm loose and untied himself. As he leaned over to untie his legs, he stared at the bomb. He felt so tired and weak. A fit of coughing hit him suddenly and he almost fell out of the chair. He sat upright, coughing hard. Greg leaned over the arm until it passed, and then for a few minutes longer until he caught his breath.

Nick's hand rested on his shoulder.

"Are you... You're burning up!"

Greg didn't need Nick to tell him that. He felt like he was in the desert at two in the afternoon he was so hot. Greg slumped back in his chair. His chest was tighter than he remembered it last time.

Nick turned in his chair some more. He tried to draw a deep breath, but his lungs weren't able to.

Greg closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He slowly dropped his hand. There was a new noise. He looked in the direction of it.

"Do you hear water running?"

Nick turned the other direction. He did. Suddenly the running turned into a roar and water shot out from behind the work lights, falling on the pool floor inches from Greg. Greg pulled his legs up, hugging them. He shivered when the water landed on his arm.

"What is it?"

"It's freezing."

Nick looked around them, then back at the water. "There has to be something we can do here."

Greg closed his eyes, trying to think. His head throbbed so bad that it was difficult to concentrate on anything. Nevertheless, an idea surfaced. He started patting his pockets, finding his keys in his front right. He pulled them out and isolated a blue one. He looked at the record light of each of the cameras until he found the blinking one. Greg turned to it, holding up the key.

"What are you doing?"

Greg suddenly started coughing and leaned over the arm of the chair as the coughing turned to vomit. The vomiting stopped, but it left him winded. With a shaky hand, he wiped his mouth off, and then faced the camera again. Holding it up.

"Warrick," Greg said.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked again.

"I'm doing something"

"I can see that. What?"

Greg shook the key a little and held it out so it was closer to the camera.

"Warrick."

"Greg... What are you doing?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"Because he's listening."

Nick didn't understand, but he decided Greg doing anything right now was better than sitting.

The break room was packed with people watching the events. Grissom stood at the front next to Warrick, watching Greg.

"Why is he saying your name, Warrick?" Grissom asked, looking up at him.

Warrick moved closer. He suddenly dug into his pocket, pulling a key ring out, and singling out a matching blue key. He looked up at the screen.

"I gottcha, Greg, I gottcha." Warrick turned to Grissom. "I'm going to need help searching his place. Something's there, but I don't know what."

"You got all that from a key?"

Warrick held up his matching key. "It's his apartment key. He's got something there, maybe his investigation files."

"Take Catherine and hurry."

Warrick left to get Catherine. Grissom's gaze returned to the monitor. Greg was still holding up the key, but he was coughing again. Over the last twenty-four hours, Grissom had watched him become paler, and his suspicion was their kidnapper had given him something before the webcast began. Something meant to kill him in the end.

* * *

The lock rattled and the door opened. Catherine and Warrick walked into the living room of a dark apartment. Warrick flicked on the switches and Catherine was surprised. 

"I never took Greg to be so neat," she commented.

"You haven't seen this place when he's been working doubles for a week. It gets pretty nasty."

"So why do you have a key to Greg's apartment?"

"Tina and I sometimes get into it in the middle of the night and I kept waking him when I came here to crash. He got tired of me waking him up."

She laughed. "What are we looking for?"

"I dunno. I'm sure we'll know it when we find it. I'll search his bedroom. He uses that bedroom as his office if you want to start there." Warrick pointed at a door off the living room.

Catherine nodded, heading to the room. She opened the door and stared.

"Warrick, I think I found it."

Catherine flipped the light switch. The room walls were covered with articles and pictures, along with notes scribbled in Greg's barely legible handwriting. That's where the disorder ended. The rest of the room was neat and even the large table that took up the center of the room had items piled neatly on it. Among the papers, maps, and notes, were file folders that should never have left the police station or CSI labs. Briefly, it crossed her mind that Grissom was not going to be happy about that.

Warrick stopped in the doorway with her. "Wow. He must have been researching a case for a while."

"I can't wait to see what's in Nick's house."

"You think he'll have something?"

Catherine nodded. "This has to do with their kidnapper. He'll have something."

"I'll go get some boxes to put all this in, and then we'll check it out." Warrick left.

Catherine walked over to the desk, picking up an MP3 player. She slid the earbud in her ear, turned it on and pushed play. The police recordings of the fake dispatcher that aided Petra O'Connor began playing.

"You boys found him. But at what cost?" Catherine looked around the room.

* * *

Water had risen to their knees and already they were starting to feel the effects of the cold. Greg's coughing and vomiting was getting worse and Nick could feel the heat of Greg's temperature on his back. He wasn't feeling much better. His lungs were slowly closing, his muscles ached, and his abdomen felt like a horse had kicked him several times. 

"I have an idea. Let's stand up and straddle the backs. It'll keep us out of the water a while longer."

"I don't think I can stand very long."

"Greg, we can't just sit here. Pretty soon the water's going to be high enough to lift the chair and us. If we stand on them, distribute our weight, we'll be able to keep the chairs down longer."

"The water will disperse the explosion."

"Not until it's at least four or five feet deep. Maybe."

Greg stared at the water. He repeated, "I don't think I can stand very long, Nick. I can hardly move as it is."

Nick turned in his chair, shaking Greg's shoulder. Greg looked back over his shoulder at him.

"I'll keep you up," Nick told him. "Come on."

Greg started to slowly rise. Nick climbed onto his chair and waited for him.

"Here. Hold onto my shoulders so you don't fall." He put his hands on Greg's shoulders and Greg did the same. "Now, on the count of three we have to move fast and hope the move doesn't... You know."

"I know."

"Okay. One... Two... Three!"

They moved fast, slipping one leg over each chair and standing face to face. Greg looked down at the water and began to sway.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Greg, look up. Look at me."

Greg turned his eyes up to Nick's face. It blurred into a blob of color and he started to fall back. Nick grabbed his arms, yanking him toward forward. Greg grabbed Nick's shoulders, stopping himself.

"You weren't joking, were you?" Nick asked.

"No," Greg whispered.

"Okay, got another idea. Unfasten your belt and then turn it around and loop it back through the loops."

Greg did as he told him. Nick unfastened his belt and then hooked them together.

"If I fall, we'll both fall," Greg pointed out.

"If we both fall, we're both dead anyway so it won't matter will it?"

"Guess not. Hey Nick--" Greg swayed and passed out.

Nick caught him, holding him up. Realizing he couldn't hold him for long, he rested his head on his shoulder and used his belt to hold him up. It only took him minutes to realize that he wasn't as healthy as he felt. His arms began to tremble and burn. He hugged Greg to him, and stared at the rising water.

* * *

Grissom, Catherine, Warrick, Hodges and swing shift CSI Ronnie had taken over the Q.D. lab and light table. Warrick and Catherine had collected everything from Greg and Nick's homes, which turned out to be a lot more than it looked. On Nick's computer, Catherine had found even more documents. From the emails she'd found, the two sounded like they had identified their stalker's name, but they didn't have a face or residence, and in the last email, Nick had told Greg until they had that, they couldn't go to Grissom. 

She had given that email to Grissom in private, and it was a good thing. She saw how much it bothered him that the two didn't trust him enough to present him with this problem. But he quickly moved past that and dove back into trying to make connections in their investigation files.

"I think I have a name!" Warrick said.

At the same time Archie came into the Q.D. lab announcing, "I have a name!" as he held up a photograph of something.

Grissom, Catherine, swing shift CSI Ronnie, and Hodges looked up at him.

"Is it Blaine Juhl?" Warrick asked.

"Huh?'

"What name do you have?" Grissom asked.

Archie showed them the picture of the pool. They had all been shown it but none of them had been able to identify the distorted image on it. On the photograph now, someone had traced an image with permanent marker.

"I have this friend that's a comic book artist and--"

"Archie," Grissom pointed to the computer monitor at the end of the table. "Now isn't the time."

Archie looked at the monitor. He'd been out of the lab for several hours and didn't know what had been happening. On it, Nick was hugging an unconscious Greg, standing on the chairs, with water up to his ankles.

"He's filling the pool with water? Why don't they just move?"

"There is a bomb under their chairs."

"Titan," Archer said, wiggling the photograph. He slid it to Grissom. "The image is of Titan, the god of the sea with a dolphin."

"Do you know where this image is?" Grissom asked.

"I think so. Remember that retirement community north of here? It was abandon because of the uranium mine nearby? I think that's it."

Grissom pulled his cell phone out and dialed a number. "Brass, send units to Los Castillos Lujosos. That may be where he's holding them." Grissom hung up. "Warrick, what do you have?"

"Blaine Juhl."

"I think he changed his name before he turned eighteen." Ronnie sorted through her papers. "All of these are school transcripts and medical records are for a Bret O'Connor."

"Petra's brother..." Grissom stood.

"He's getting back for his sister and step-father," Catherine said, looking at the monitor.

Grissom's phone rang. "Grissom. Why are we just hearing about this now? We'll be in the parking lot in five minutes." Grissom hung up. "Los Castillos Lujosos still has security and in the last four days, they've had three guards never return from patrol."

Grissom grabbed a folder. "We're going out there now."

In a flurry Warrick, Catherine and Grissom left, leaving Ronnie and Archie.

Grissom suddenly came back. "Are you coming?" he asked them.

The two ran after him.

* * *

Greg opened his eyes, staring at the water. Tiny shafts of sunlight refracted through the water, casting little rainbows everywhere. With a high fever, he didn't notice how cold the water was, but he felt Nick shivering under him. 

"Are we dead?" Greg muttered.

Nick opened his eyes. He stared at the water too. The water was turned off when it was just over waist high – high enough to start hypothermia, but low enough it would never absorb the blast of the bomb. It made him want to shoot Blaine Juhl right between the eyes.

"Not yet," Nick answered.

"Why are you shaking?"

"The water is freezing cold."

Greg let out a sigh. "We're going to die, aren't we?

Nick closed his eyes. The answer was simple. There was no one coming to rescue them at the last minute.

"Yes."

Greg closed his eyes. "I feel like I could die right now."

"You're really sick."

"He did this to me, didn't he?"

"I'm sure he did."

"Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"Not choosing the epi over me."

Nick smiled. "All in a days work."

Greg smiled for a second as his conscious faded away again.

"Greg?"

He didn't answer. Nick adjusted his arms around him and realized they were starting to feel numb.

* * *

From the control room Blaine watched the two slowly dying and it thrilled him. He had calculated the time of death within hours and that time was drawing near. Not wanting to miss watching them draw their last breath kept his attention riveted to the monitor and he didn't see the police cars, SUVs and ambulances pull up to the gates of Los Castillos Lujosos.

* * *

Brass stepped out of his car, glaring at the camera mounted on the fence. He drew his side arm and shot it out, spooking everyone. Brass didn't care. He was determined to destroy Blaine Juhl and hoped, no, prayed, that the man would draw a weapon and give him reason to put a bullet through his heart. Brass looked into the community. The houses near the entrance were finished. They were Spanish-style one and two bedroom cottages, designed for elderly occupants. The rest of the homes were unfinished. The nearby uranium mine had destroyed what was supposed to be a first-class retirement community. 

"The pool house is in the center," Brass told everyone. "We don't know where he's at and we can't be certain he hasn't placed bombs elsewhere. Move out."

A police officer opened the gate and several went inside, fanning out among the houses. CSI, the bomb squad, and Brass started walking down the street, watching the houses for any movement.

* * *

Blaine noticed the gate camera was out. He tapped two buttons and made some adjustments, but it didn't come on. He caught a movement in another camera and focused on it, but there was nothing there. He got up and grabbed his coat and a rifle, and headed out to the gate to fix it. He didn't want anyone surprising him until the two were dead.

* * *

Catherine watched a policeman move between houses nearby. "He had this place all to himself. We never would have thought to look here." 

"Luckily for him, our CSI are smarter than he is," Grissom replied.

Catherine smiled. She looked across the street as another officer came and went from view.

"Luckily."

To their left, a gun was fired. They heard someone yell, "STOP!"

Over Brass's radio an officer reported, "Blaine Juhl has been sighted! He's running back to the pool house armed with a shotgun. I need a medic, two streets over from the gate, and six houses up."

The group ran.

* * *

Blaine ran into the control room and slammed the door shut. He slid a metal bar into the brackets he had fitted on either side for just this moment. Blaine dropped his gun on the desk and picked up a remote control. He jumped when something hit the door and turned. Brass glared through the triple pane window in the door. 

His voice was muffled but he could hear Brass order, "Open the door! You're under arrest!"

Blaine just smiled and hit the button on the control. But nothing happened. He looked at the control, tapping it repeatedly.

* * *

In the pool, Nick heard the beeping cut off and start up several times. The sound didn't register. Nothing really registered since the shivering had stopped. Except one thought. If the shivering stopped, then it wouldn't be long before the cold would have done the job, Blaine intended and he would be dead. Greg leaned heavy on his shoulder, his labored breathing the only thing Nick could hear. He was dying too, wasn't he? So this was how it was going to end? Nick closed his eyes, resolving himself to the inevitable.

* * *

Blaine realized that somewhere he'd made a mistake. He hadn't tested his circuitry in water and quite possibly overlooked some elemental connection that was crucial to it functioning in water. Blaine sighed. There was only way to keep his promise, and that was to keep the police from finding out how to disarm the bomb. Blaine dropped the control and picked up the rifle, pressing the barrel end under his chin. 

"No. Blaine, NO!" Brass yelled.

Blaine smiled at him, and then pulled the trigger.

Outside Brass stepped back. The CSI and the bomb squad were waiting for news.

"Did he just kill himself?" Archie asked.

"Yeah." Brass turned to the bomb squad. "Ever disarm a bomb under water?"

They looked at each other, but none answered. Brass sighed.

"Well, today you're going to learn how to, because the bomb is under water, and the only man that could tell us how to disarm it just committed suicide."

Brass jogged into the door marked 'Pool,' leading the others in.

The pool area was dark and it took a few minutes for their eyes to adjust. It took less than that for Warrick to respond to his friends floating in the pool. He ran toward the pool, focused on pulling his fellow CSI from the pool before the bomb could go off.

"WARRICK, NO!" Grissom yelled.

Warrick dove into the frigid water, swimming out to them.

Brass keyed his radio, "Send paramedics to the pool area.

Warrick grabbed Nick's arm and pulled them toward the edge. The others came to the edge and lifted Greg and Nick out. A bomb squad member pulled out a knife and cut the belt holding them together.

* * *

Nick looked up, seeing the doctor coming down the hall. He slowly stood, attracting the attention of the CSI and Greg's parents. Grissom, Greg's father, and his stepfather stood with him as the doctor came into the waiting room. The man didn't look like he was about to deliver good news. 

"How is he?" Greg's mother asked.

"Why are they keeping us in here?" his father demanded, pointing to the two FBI agents standing outside the waiting room.

They had come in four hours ago and told them that they were to stay in this room until further notice.

The doctor didn't answer right away. The unspoken words told them what he wasn't. Greg was not okay.

"Greg's kidnapper exposed him to Influenza A, subtype H5N1."

"Avian flu?" Grissom asked.

"Yes."

"Is that dangerous?" his mother asked.

"It has a fifty percent mortality rate. We've had to quarantine him so he can't have visitors yet. I'm sorry."

No one spoke.

"We also need to draw blood from everyone to make sure you haven't contracted the virus. Once you've been cleared, you'll be free to leave. Do you have any questions?"

"How long does he have to be quarantined?" Nick asked.

"At least a week."

"Is he... Comfortable?" Greg's mother asked.

The doctor nodded. "He's unconscious and we'll keep him sedated if he comes to. He's not in pain right now."

The doctor waited and when no one else spoke, he told the group, "A CDC doctor will be here in a few minutes to draw your blood."

The man left. Nick sat down, stating at his hands. He didn't look up when Grissom sat down next to him.

"Blaine won." Nick asked.

"No."

Nick looked up at him.

"He gave him--"

"Greg doesn't know how to quit, Nick. Blaine didn't win."

Nick almost believed Grissom. Almost agreed with him. He looked down at his hand when it trembled slightly. His doctor explained that the toxins in the Hymenoptera venom had done some neural damage this time, and he may go through the rest of his life with mild tremors. At some level, Blaine had won.


	10. Chapter 10: Four Weeks Later

**FOUR WEEKS LATER**

Greg heard paper rustle. He didn't open his eyes for fear his nightmare would be waiting for him. Someone's body part, an arm or a hand maybe, brushed his hand, making him flinch.

"Greg?" Catherine's voice softly asked.

Greg opened his eyes, focusing on her. She smiled, sliding her hand into his.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he whispered. His throat was raw and it hurt to talk. He lifted his hand to touch it and found that hurt too.

"Do you need something?"

"Water?"

She let his hand go to pour water into a glass. She peeled a straw and leaned over the bed railing so he could get a drink. He moved his head when he was done and she set it aside. Greg slowly took in his surroundings, recognizing the hospital room.

"How am I?"

"Good."

"What did he do to me?"

"Infected you with Avian flu."

"Isn't that like... Contagious?"

"Not anymore."

"How long..."

"You've been in the hospital for four weeks. You survived."

"And Nick?" Greg whispered.

"He's at home. He starts work tomorrow."

Greg looked up into her eyes. "Where is Blaine?"

She hesitated. "He committed suicide."

Greg stared at her face for a long time and she held his gaze unwavering.

"I shouldn't be glad he's dead."

She rubbed his shoulder. "No, but... He tried to kill you. It's understandable."

Greg sighed, closing his eyes. "Are you staying?"

"For a little while."

Greg turned his head. "Next time, we'll have that cup of coffee."

He was already asleep when she quietly told him, "Sounds good, Greggo."

Catherine took his hand, standing close while he slept.


	11. Chapter 11: Twelve Weeks Later

**Twelve Weeks Later**

Greg stepped off the elevator and immediately people stopped to welcome him back, shake his hand and pat him on the back. The attention embarrassed him to the point he made a beeline for Grissom's office.

Grissom pecked at his keyboard. He heard the commotion as Greg came down the hall and stopped, watching him come in. Greg smiled and waved to the lab tech talking to him.

"Gotta go. Thanks. Thanks." He shut the door and turned, leaning on it. "Remind me never to stay away too long and try coming back. Wow!"

Grissom's brow furrowed. "What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be back for another four weeks."

"About that..." Greg walked over to a chair and sat down. "Could you pull some strings? I want to come back to work now."

"Greg, you almost died. I want you to take your full medical leave."

"I'm going stir crazy. I want to get back to work."

Grissom leaned on his desk. "After the last close call--"

"I don't have a serial killer stalking me anymore. I'm fine."

"And then we still have to talk about your behavior."

"Back to the no serial killer stalking me."

"And you said you couldn't work with Nick."

Greg laughed, letting his head fall back. "Noooo!"

Grissom was smiling when he looked back at him. "I knew that was a lie."

"So I can start working today?"

"No. You're taking the full sixteen weeks."

"The doc said I was fine. No trace of the flu."

Grissom frowned at him. He grabbed a folder from a pile and opened it.

"Greg Sanders is still experiencing some weakness and fatigue. He--"

"Okay. Okay. So maybe that's not entirely true. How about part time? I'll stay in the lab."

Grissom pursed his lips. "I'll see what I can do about eight hours a week for now. And you _will_ stay in the lab, no arguments."

"No arguments. Thank you, Grissom!"

Greg stood.

"Since your here, I do need to talk to you about the case files you and Nick took out of the building without permission."

Greg's humor dissipated as he sat down. "We had to hide them, Grissom. We didn't know what he was going to do. We couldn't--"

"I credited the investigation to you and Nick. Moreover, you both had been working on it since Petra's arrest, and those files _never_ left the building. Understand?"

"Yes. I understand."

"And this will never happen again, will it?"

Greg hesitated. Grissom's eyebrows rose.

"If it means keeping my friends safe, I can't promise that, Grissom."

"While I appreciate your concern, Greg, I'd like to think we could have stopped him sooner if we'd known what was happening to you. I, personally, would have accepted the risk over what happened to you and Nick any day."

Greg nodded. "I promise."

"Thank you. If I get the hours approved, I'll call you. But you won't start until Monday."

Greg started to argue.

"You promised no arguments," Grissom reminded him.

"Monday sounds great." Greg jumped up and walked to the door.

"You know, Greg, it was very ingenious to use your key to tell Warrick where you kept your investigation files."

Greg turned back to him. "It was nothing. I knew he'd figure it out. It took him, what, a whole ten minutes."

"Three."

"See? I can't take all the credit. See you later, Grissom."

Grissom smiled, watching him leave. Before he was out of sight, more co-workers stopped him, welcoming him back.

Quietly he told the room, "Of this one I am proud."

* * *

Greg passed the locker room, glancing in. He stopped and walked back. 

"Hey Greg," he heard someone say.

He waved but didn't look away. Nick sat at the end of the benches, staring at his hand. Even from the hall Greg could see it was trembling. Greg walked in and he quickly put his hand down on his leg to hide the tremble. He looked up and for a second surprise covered his face. He smiled, standing up.

"Hey, Greggo!"

"Hey. Haven't seen you since I got out of the hospital. How are you?"

"Good. You're back?"

"Not yet. Grissom said I can't come back till Monday, and then only eight hours a week."

"He's just looking out for you."

"Yeah."

Greg stopped by his locker. Nick walked to his locker and opened it. Greg leaned back against the lockers, watching Nick's back.

"When are you going to tell me?" Greg asked.

"Tell you what?"

"Don't do that, Nick."

"What?" Nick turned to him.

"Your hand was shaking when I came in. What's going on?"

Nick instinctively slid his hands into his pockets. "It's nothing. Doctor said it'll go away."

"What will?"

Nick smiled nervously.

Greg decided it wasn't worth pressing. Not if Nick was dead set on keeping whatever was wrong a secret.

"I gotta go. Got another appointment with another CDC doctor. They're determined to make sure my body killed this bug. Maybe I'll see you Monday."

Greg walked past Nick. He reached the door when Nick said, "Actually, I might have hand tremors the rest of my life."

Greg stopped. He turned, watching Nick. He was staring at his hand again, but it wasn't shaking this time.

"The Hymenoptera venom?"

"Yeah."

Greg nodded, looking down. "Are you working this Sunday?"

"No."

"Why don't we take a couple bikes up to the hills and terrorize small animals?"

Nick laughed. "Eight?"

"Yeah. Eight. Where do you want to meet for breakfast?"

"The diner?"

"Okay. See ya Sunday at eight."

Nick nodded. Greg watched him disappear from sight, and then headed back to the elevator with faded humor. Nick had been given a permanent reminder of the incident. Somehow that didn't seem fair.

Greg stepped into the car that came for him and leaned back against the wall. He rested his head against the wall. He had lied to Grissom, he really didn't feel okay, and this short jaunt left him feeling fatigued. Greg closed his eyes, letting his mind drift.

From the darkness behind his eyes, from the depths of his subconscious, Blaine Juhl slunk into the light of his mind's eyes. He grinned an insane, clown like smile, and held up syringe filled with white fluid.

"Come on, Greggy waggy. You want another shot, don't you? One for the road? You can quit any time you want."

Greg's eyes popped open, banishing the demon back to the depths, but not the feeling of intense fear. He dug into his hip pocket and pulled out a cellophane wrapped sucker. Greg tore off the wrapper and popped in his mouth. By the time the doors opened again, his nerves were calm. He left the building, feeling up to a few rounds of poker.


End file.
